trading it in

I never planned to change my last name. I thought it was an outdated and chauvinistic tradition, and I liked the name I already had—the one I was born with. I love the family history it holds. In a weird way, I even love that it's difficult to pronounce. I was never one of the girls doodling "Mrs. So-and-so" in my notebooks*.

But then I got married. And I traded it in. 


"Pasquariello" became "McGinnis." And to be honest, at first I felt like an impostor—or worse, a traitor.


It was a tough decision. Really tough. I cried about it, and not just a single tear but a wet-faced, steering-wheel-gripping pity party.


How come women never talk about that? I know I'm not the only one in history to have a hard time letting go of her last name. But so many women get excited about a new name, that I almost felt guilty for having the opposite emotion.


But I ended up doing it anyway. Why?


The short answer is that I decided it was the right decision for us—that tiny little word that makes such a big difference—graduating from me to us.


The long answer is... more complicated. Several conversations went around in circles. I discovered his reasons for wanting me to take his last name weren't chauvinistic—they were actually rather sweet, which only pissed me off. Because my reasons were equally justified. 


It was a complete stalemate. There was no truly feasible compromise, since hyphenating would mean a 20-letter last name. My best friend Laura suggested getting a maiden name tattoo, which I actually considered before deciding against it.

too long for a tat

a bit unwieldy 

I did a little soul-searching, and by that I mean talking to a few friends (if you're reading, thanks for listening), staying up late one night listening to Adele, drinking Pinot Noir, and writing my name out in fine point Sharpie on notebook paper in every possible combination. I'd look at it every few days, think about it, write it down, think about it some more.


On the blistering hot day we found ourselves at the Athens-Clarke County Courthouse filing paperwork, there was a blank line that demanded FUTURE LAST NAME. I wrote "McGinnis" on the form, and handed it to my future husband. He set about filling in his portion, and then he saw it. He stopped. He smiled. 


Pointing to the line, he asked, "What's that?"


I didn't answer. 


"I'd hoped we'd get there, but I didn't think we were there yet."


And that's how it happened. It might've been a decision I made for us, but it was a conclusion I had to reach on my own. 



*Disclaimer: I once owned a shirt that said "Mrs. Clooney" but I don't think that counts.

super week in naptown

For the past 10 days, the Super Bowl has been all that any of us here in Indy could talk about. I kid you not. I can't tell you how many times I heard or uttered the following...


Have you ridden the zip line?
Have you seen the line for Jimmy Fallon?
Did you hear Jimmy Fallon ate at Mug-n-Bun?
Where are you gonna park?
Did you hear Ryan Gosling was at Kilroy's downtown last night?
Did you hear Ryan Gosling was in Broad Ripple last night?
Are you going to the NFL Experience? Media Day? the Super Bowl Village? the NFL Honors Awards show? the DirecTV Beach Bowl? the GQ party? the Playboy party? the LMFAO concert? the OAR concert? the Sixpence None the Richer concert? the Snoop Dogg and Nelly concert?
We saw Jerry Rice!
We saw Drew Brees!
We ALMOST saw Jimmy Fallon!


The city was ecstatic about hosting the Super Bowl, and people were so PROUD. There were more than 9,000 volunteers, and each and every one of them had a hand-knit scarf from a Hoosier (that's what they call a person from Indiana, for all the non-Hoosiers). 


It was just heartwarming to see so many people who care so deeply about their hometown, going out of their way to make people feel welcome. That's not something you see every day. Or every year. And right about now—especially with this warm streak we're having—I feel pretty lucky to live here.

they say you're a product of your environment

Is it true? I live in Indianapolis, and I'm not a Colts fan. I spent 10 years in Atlanta, and I'm not a Falcons fan. Oh, but if we go back, way back, to where it all began... I'm a New England Patriots AND New York Giants fan.


They say you can't be both (and by "they" I mean mainly my husband). But I grew up cheering for both.


The Giants because my Mom (well, really my Aunt Pam) were fans, and the Pats because my Dad's a diehard fan. My birth certificate says New York, but my childhood memories are New Hampshire.


And now they're head-to-head again for the big throw-down. I've gotta pick the Pats over the Giants, but let's face it—either way, I won't be crying in my brewski.

you know you're getting older when...

This song comes on the radio, gets turned all the way up, and you're thinking they just don't make music like they used to. Check out the hair at :37.

super bowl starts now

You know how hard it is to concentrate on an average Friday afternoon. What makes it harder is when there's a Super Bowl party happening right outside your office. If the bass was any louder, my desk would be shaking.

real google reviews

Please read post number two below, a review of the Wendy's in downtown Indy. Can't make this shit up...

room with a view

Our guest room is lovingly called "the dungeon." No light, no sound, no windows. Sleeping in there, you don't know if it's midnight or noon.

In an attempt to make it more cheerful, I picked a very bright, bold color (Orange Sherbet). I also hung a false window, complete with curtains. 


Ryan thinks it's a bit ridiculous. I think it's imaginative. And aren't those really just two sides of the same coin?

very bright. but better than boring.

found the chalkboard decal here at world market.

peekaboo. reused some curtains from
my old apartment.

representing my new hampshire roots
with a vintage pennant. 

photo on canvas. one of my all-time favorite
shots taken by my brother trey.

when i found this guy, he was
wooden with a cracked brown seat.
i recovered him in beige vinyl,
added a coat of white paint,
and he's a whole new chair.

scored this end table on the cheap at
a local antique store.

my dad salvaged this from a
neighbor's trash pile, scrubbed it down
and fixed it up with a new glass shade.

february '55

In Massachusetts, on a cold winter day in 1955, Barbara Ann Bernard married Ralph Angelo Pasquariello. 


Theirs is the greatest love story never told—but of course, as their granddaughter, I'm a bit biased. They would be celebrating 57 years of marriage next month if Poppie was alive. Nana is still with us, but these days she doesn't know one month from the next. I miss them both.


I was searching for wedding photos from everyone in my family and Ryan's to use for our wedding, and got these from a cousin. 


I'd remembered Nana telling me a long time ago that they had a "snowball wedding," where all of her bridesmaids wore white, but had never seen most of these photos before. I could look at these all day... so much to love.